This harvest, described today (Day 663 of the daily poems) by our poet Colin Hopkirk – well, it just has to be Buried Treasure, doesn’t it? And we can’t plough it back …
Harvesting
Today we harvested
horseshoes
big as side-plates
fists of limestone
shards of tile
blue and white crockery
the bone handle
of an old eating knife
rusted bedsprings
a tortoiseshell barrette
and a tin of lead soldiers –
dead Hussars
headless Dragoons
riding broken horses
We couldn’t plough them back
they wouldn’t fit
Not even in our dreams
Colin Hopkirk